


GOOD TIMES

by goodnightfern



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Child Soldiers, Cocaine, M/M, Metal gear (1987), Other, a very necessary ocekaz soulmate au, beach barbecue, cassette tapes, not drabbles. a drabble is 100 words exactly. this is not a drabble collection., ocekaz sauna tape, ocenadine... the hottest het you never knew about..., shitposting on my ao3? its more likely than you think, think of this as.... ferns summertime supply drop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:30:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: If I reblog some writing meme on tumblr and you send me an ask and a ship, I'll do it. Just watch me go.Update: Local yaoi man tries a soulmate AU, disaster ensues.





	1. THINK OF THE CHILDREN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19\. Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were  
> Liquidmantis? A new thing for me! Exciting.

Nights on the island could almost be quiet.

A few minds drift on guard duty. Focused for the most part, but inside one is tracking cattle across red sands. Another hears his mother’s screams - he never reaches her in time, while one more struggles behind a fat forearm wrapped around his neck. 

He drifts across their tiny kingdom. There’s nothing but brine shrimp in the salt lake, and the island itself is nearly a desert. The White Mamba and his men dig cockroaches and beetles from under rocks, roast them over the fire until they split.

Insects don’t think much. Their lives end without fanfare and release only a - a molecule, that reaches his olfactory nerves, that is transmitted and translated into something someone else might describe as an _awful stench_.

The White Mamba doesn’t offer the child food anymore, but some of the other boys still hold out hesitant offerings. The child ignores them; he has neither need nor desire for food. Once upon a time he did. Long ago. There’s scars on his arms, incisions where tubes once slipped in, to stand testament.

And yes, he remembers.

He remembers and _burns_ -

_I’d like to see that bastard **try** to take his damn robot._

The White Mamba, bent over the fire, is looking at him.

You’ll kill him, this time.

_Blast him. To pieces. Scatter his corpse across this bloody deserted **shithill** and leave him for the crows -_

Vultures. The lappet-faced vulture. That’s what lives around here.

The bastard told him this. He thought about the vultures, and the gerbils, and the goats too, when his mind started to slip. There were voices inside that mind, too many -

_Oh, so now you’re a wildlife expert._

There’s shrimp in the salt lake, too.

_…What’s a vulture like, anyways?_

Vast and patient minds. Observant. Almost intelligent.

_And they eat corpses._

Rotting dead bodies -

_With their guts spilling out -_

Putrefying -

_Fucking disgusting, is what it is._

Sure.

_…You ever seen a bird rip an eyeball out of a man’s head? I have. A whole flock of them. We left these bodies in the middle of a road, see. Sent those villagers a message. And those nasty birds wouldn’t stop shitting all over us -_

The White Mamba tells the story without speaking a word, and the child drifts to the empty skull of his monster until the words send him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> liquidmantisers, hmu. i found out i was actually interested in this.


	2. Bosselthottin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 5. things you didn’t say at all  
> Bosselot, with extremely side secret heapings of "guess what fic this is a sidepiece to :3"

”Look at this crap."  _[papers, rustling, slapping on a desk.]_   "Last time I trust Fox with a budget. Where the hell is Kaz, anyways?”

“I told you. Los Angeles.”

“Right. The wife and kid.”

“By all accounts, they’re happy.”

 _[snort]_ “You don’t know Kaz like I do.”

“John -”

“Outer Heaven needs a strong managerial hand and I need a good secretary. The phantom knows how to handle him by now. We had a little chat about Kaz.”

“Did you.”

“You worked with him. You know what he's like. Kaz only works as hard as what he’s getting. But once you let him start talking -”

“Did you stick your dick in his mouth every time he brought up a financial concern? If that’s how the MSF operated no wonder it ended up in flames.”

“Adam.”

“You want to know the truth about Miller? He’s broken. Finished. His wife screws other men while he drinks himself to death in a cul-de-sac - he’s finished. _I_ made sure of it.”

“…”

“Something of a specialty of mine, in case you-”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“He knows too much. And for the right buyer, for the right price -”

“And he knows damn well what would happen to him if he did. He's got a child, John. Much more to lose than another leg. Or did you think I would let him run anywhere I couldn’t see him?”

“Dunno.”

“John…"

“…”

“Don’t you worry about Miller. We’ve got much bigger things on our plate, here.”

“…Ah, _shit_.”

“Lower?”

“Yeah. Right there.”

“I know. You weren’t made to spend your days bent over paperwork.”

“Hm. Not as young as I used to be.”

_[long silence. a grunt. a chair rolling across a hardwood floor.]_

“Well?”

“What?”

 _[fingers snapping]_ “The _light_ , Adam. Christ.”


	3. OceKaz Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21\. Things you said when we were on top of the world

“Okay, okay. How about… this one.” Ocelot flattens another file on top of the stack of personnel files they've been going over for the past two hours. Nevermind - unless the Rolex finally broke, it's been six. 

Time really does fly when the blow is good, and what they've got is _incredible._ Expensive, but increased efficiency is always worth it. Kaz squints at the next personnel photo before realizing his glasses slipped down his head again. It's kind of a burly guy. Dark haired, six foot two with a sparse beard and fat jowls that give him the general impression of a bulldog. A solid C-ranked first lieutenant of the glorious Worker’s Red Fleet. 

Yeah, definitely not a romp in the showers. Maybe if there was serious morale issue. “… Placid Worm.”

“Placid Worm," Ocelot repeats.

“Get it?”

“Oh, I get it all right.” Ocelot spins the page around to consider. Taps the photo thoughtfully. “Though I’m not so sure about the placidity of his worm.”

“What, and you would know?”

He grins. “I would.”

“When I told you we’d get you a harem of Navy boys -”

“And I told you I would hand-select each one -”

“Oh, god. I don't need hear about how you fucked your way all the way up to Gorbachev.” Kaz throws up a hand. “But tell you what. If his dick was that good…”

“I’d rate it a solid seven out of ten.”

Kaz absolutely does not ask where his own dick ranks. “How does... Fat Snake sound, then?”

Ocelot stops smiling.

God dammit. That was too far. Kaz focuses on setting up another line of fine white powder, irritated. They’re not supposed to talk about Snake, yeah, yeah, he gets it. But it’s been eight fucking years. If the man isn’t dead yet -

“Stout Snake.”

Kaz dares to look up.

The coke hasn't cracked him yet, but Ocelot almost _does_ look like a cat when he's holding back laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo... i'm goodnightfern on tumblr too. sometimes, this is fun for me. and i need to break out of whatever giant WIP and just let my fingers roll across the keyboard a bit nahmean


	4. Some Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: just go

**CATSUP - I MEAN CATSUN**

  
The kid grins up at her, all quivering and crouched under the table with a bowl full of eggs. “W-well, you gotta scramble a few eggs to make an omelette!"

Cathy crosses her arms. "Uh-huh.”

“That’s - that’s what Master -”

Cathy uncrosses her arms. And crosses them again, or something, because, _hell no._

“…Let me know when they’re ready,” she says, and heads down the steps. There’s a pool of splattered egg she slips in, but fuck it. 

Hal is, as always, immsered in his computers. Six screens at once. How does he focus?

“Tell me the truth,” she says.

“Huh?” Hal always pushes up his glasses with his middle finger like some nerd out of like, The Breakfast Club.

“What’s up with your kid?”

“Ah. Sunny is… she’s… had a hard life.”

“I know my dad was here.”

“Snake is -”

_“David _doesn't -”__

____

____

“What do you want to know?”

She thinks about it.

For a good goddamn minute or so, okay? She thinks about it. About how -

Christ. Her supposedly long lost sister is huddling under a card table flipping out about breaking the yolks.

“I’m just saying. Your kid’s a little messed up. Like, in the head.”

Upstairs, Sunny watches her slam the door behind her.

 

**QKAZ VQ VKAZ WHATEVER**

 

“Thanks, though. That was… thanks.”

She doesn’t hear him.

The poor stupid dumb plant monster bitch doesn’t even hear him. Kaz rolls his eyes. She’s all yellow and crispy looking, scorched by the chlorine gas…

Jade Tree Frog is trying to give her saline solutions. As if that will help.

But hey, at least she got the freaking elephant necklace back.

And Kaz…

Kaz leaves the room when he realizes the phantom has been hovering outside. There’s a hedgehog under his scarf, and he’d like to show it to her.

He’ll just slip the Prince tape in one of his pockets. She loves that one song.

 

**BBQ**

Well, it's not like _this_ asshole's gonna care if she goes ahead and covers all these goats.

In fact, he might even be into it.

Looking a little peckish himself, huh?


	5. SHERIFF WILDCAT'S BEDTIME STORY HOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a completely insane bit I wrote while brainstorming a chapter from Deadweight Losses. I don't -

_And so, the lonely wildcat turned his boots back west. The streets of El Angel were empty, but for the odd tumbleweed rolling across Main Street. He would've continued straight on home, but Rainbow Brite was lagging. And so he found himself in a strange saloon again, yet there was a familiar face behind the bar this time..._

 

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Well, well, well. If it ain’t the ol’ Banzai Buckaroo.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Oh, I’m in this one? Well, how-dee-do, sheriff.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:**  So what brings you to a one horse town like this?

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** What do you think I’m doing? I’m the sole proprietor of this here saloon. Best place to get your throat wet in all the West.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Perhaps I’m interested in getting more than my throat wet.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Hey, that’s ina-

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Word on the streets is, this saloon is also home to the finest sauna in all the West. The only sauna, in fact -

 

_(“What’s a sauna?”_

_“A sauna, or sentō, is a traditional style of Japanese public bathhouse.”_

_“Hey, wait a minute -”_

_“A sauna is a small room built entirely out of wood. Inside, rocks are heated on a oven until the temperature reaches around two hundred degrees Fahrenheit. At this point, water is splashed on the rocks, creating a sort of steam bath intended to make the bather perspirate - or sweat - heavily.”_

_“There’s a lot of health benefits to using a sauna! It relaxes sore muscles, flushes toxins from the skin, improves cardiovascular health and reduces hypertension. Not to mention the effects on stress and general morale, the socialization -”_

_“Cathy, in a sauna, everyone is naked.”_

_“Naked!”_

_“You can wear a towel -”_

_“Naked, Cathy. Now back to the story.”)_

**BANZAI BUCKAROO:** So there’s just a sauna. Attached to a bar. In this one-horse tumbleweed town. Right. Yeah, Sheriff. I’ve got a sauna just around the back. We don’t have indoor plumbing and we’re all dying of cholera and dysentery, but sure, we’ve got a sauna.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** That’s right. So, how about it? You, me, and a roomful of steam?

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** C’mon, this is the Wild West. I’m the only one holding down the law in this saloon full of - uh -

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Who? We're the -

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** The - the patrons. There’s ol’ Barnacle Bobby, and the Tumbleweed Tiger, and, uh, Ranger Rabbit and they're all dangerous criminals and horsethieves and what have you -

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:**  C'mon. Just an hour in the sauna. For old times sake.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Why am I even in this story if all we’re gonna do is go to a sauna?

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** The Ruskie Riders done worn this wildcat down to a kitten.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Fine. Okay. So, uh, welcome to the sauna. Let me just throw some water on the rocks -

_splish, splish_

 

_(“Daddy, you have to make the sounds too.”_

_"You really do.")_

 

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Splish, splash, sploosh. All right. Getting nice and hot in here.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Ahhhh. Feels good.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Yeah. It’s nice.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** So, Buckaroo. How’s life on the farm treating you? Never took you for the settling-down type.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Eh, you know. I’ve got a good few acres of land here. Got a, a bunch of real Texas Longhorns out in the hills. I’m looking for a few good _vaqueros_ for the long drive this season - I’d ask you, but I assume you’re preoccupied with sheriff duties.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** More than you know.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:**  … Ruskie Riders, huh?

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** We’ve already heard this story.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Well, I’m just the Banzai Buckaroo and apparently I’ve just been turning to a rotten prune in this here sauna this whole time. Refresh my memory. Didn’t we go up against them once?

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** We used to go up against quite a few gangs, back in the day.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Yeah, I mean. We were _partners_. Hell, remember when we robbed the oil barons down in Texas? Or the time we saved Two-Horse Township from the, uh, the wild chupacabras of New Mexico-

 

_(“I wanna hear the one about the chupacabras again!”_

_“Tomorrow night, maybe.”_

_“Uncle Wayne isn’t gonna be here tomorrow night.”_

_“Exactly. That’s why Uncle Wayne gets to pick the story.”_

_“Ah. The Tale of the Thrice-Bit Chicken-Robbing Chupacabras. That’s a good one. Is it your favorite?”_

_“Uh-huh. I like dogs.”_

_“Maybe there’ll be a dog in this story, if you ask your father nicely.”)_

 

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Tell me about the sauna. What’s these branches over here?

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** That’s… that’s a broom of dried white birch. You’re supposed to slap yourself with it to stimulate circulation. In Finland, which is where saunas actually originate, they call it _banya venik._

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT** : That’s Russian.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** You just gotta soak the branches before you do it.

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Can you hit me?

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Uh… sure.

_Slap! Slap! Slap!_

**SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Ahhh. Stimulating. I’m starting to see the appeal of saunas now.

_BANG!_

**SHERIFF WILDCAT** : ...What was that?

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** BANG! BANG! That’s gunfire, Sheriff! We’ve got to get back to the saloon! I bet it’s that Old One-Eyed Jack again -

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** One-Eye Jack? I left him back at the Alamo.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Yeah, well, rule number one is _never forget the Alamo,_ Sheriff.

_BANG-CRACK! A bullet TEARS through the wall of the sauna. Now we're gonna get splinters._

**SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Buckaroo!

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** I’m all right. It only grazed my cheek.

_The patrons are screaming! Crash, crash, pew! The Buckaroo leaps to his feet, pulling out his shotgun -_

**SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Hold your horses there, Buckaroo. I’ll handle this.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Hey! You might be the Sheriff, but I’m the Bartender Buckaroo now, and I’m the only law around these here parts!

_Crack, crack! With two quick blasts the door of the sauna is reduced to splinters! The steam rushes out, filling the saloon with smoke. But the Buckaroo strides forward, and through the clouds, he can see it - and why, it’s none other than Old One-Eyed Jack!_

 

_(“Shoot him, Daddy! Shoot him in the face!”)_

 

 **OLD ONE-EYED JACK:** Hrrghhh, Buckaroo, what are you doing here? I thought you… grrr... died in the Alamo.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** You mean you left me for dead! Hah. If it wasn’t for your complete lack of depth perception, I might have been, but guess again, Jack. I’m back, and I’m ready to -

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Buckaroo. Get back in the sauna.

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Oh, come on. Bang! Bang! I’m the owner of this here saloon, and I say -

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** And I’m the sheriff. And I say, get back in the sauna.

 

_("Uncle Wayne, do the meow."_

_"...The meow?"_

_"Get Daddy back in the sauna with the meow."_

_"...How exactly is that going to -" )_

 

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** _MMMMMOOOUUURRRAAAUUUUGGHHHHHHH_

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** God dammit.

 **MILLIE PONTIPEE:** What the hell is going on in here?

 **SHERIFF WILDCAT:** Ah -

 **BANZAI BUCKAROO:** Wayne, he just -

 **MILLIE PONTIPEE:**  Seriously - hey! Don't you go jumping on the bed, _m'ija._  

 **MATTIE ROSS:** But Mooooom...


	6. Shopaholics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 
> 
> i mean. Ocelot and Nadine be Shoppin'. i am laid up with an awful infection and i am desperate but [a friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller) sent me a prompt that entirely tied in with a chapter of DL, god fucking bless.

Truth is, the whole money issue does nag at her sometimes. It’s not like she was asking Ben for child support, it’s not like she asks him for anything even five years into the marriage.

At least Wayne can answer these kind of questions for her.

Wayne’s _such_ a sweet guy. He dotes on Cathy, loves her husband, and was surprisingly chill about the whole “oops I got knocked up by your lover and had a shotgun marriage” thing. She really hit the jackpot of unintended pregnancy, she thinks, twirling the phone cord around her finger behind the closed bathroom door.

“Ben would never blame you for wanting a wealthy father for your child,” Wayne assures her from his East Coast office. “If only his mother had chosen so well.”

“Yeah. He told me all about her.” She bites her lip. “But, y’know. Things…"

“Change?”

“I guess. I just don’t know, like, if _he_ knows.”

“Five years of living together, raising a child… “

“I'm gonna be real with you. He's not the easiest man to love. But, geez. I mean, I sure wasn’t even expecting to get pregnant at thirty-eight, much less find someone.”

“I know how that feels,” Wayne says, and there’s a bit of a sigh there.

Once again she wants to ask why Wayne didn’t just move to Los Angeles with Ben. How they handle this long-distance relationship crap.

But that’s none of her business.

“You’ve got to help me find him a present, okay? I’m sick of never knowing what to get for him. I know he doesn’t have a birthday, but there’s this little holiday they do in Japan coming up…”

“Golden Week?”

“That’s it!”

Of course, Wayne has a suggestion. It’s perfect. Something small, simple, and practical that she can’t believe she never thought of before.

The plan is to keep it a surprise. Selena and Crystal and Moms are surprised that she’s the one dragging them all out on a girl’s day for once. Even more shocked when they end up not at the usual mall, but Rodeo Drive.

Wayne introduces himself at the brunch table. Charming and clever as always, the dapper gay friend of a progressive Hollywood film. Not that Wayne is actually gay, but that’s on the down-low for now. Of course they all love him. He fits right in. And seriously, _Rodeo Drive._

Nadine used to dream of walking down Rodeo Drive when she was a little girl. She could catch the bus and window-shop, her and her little friends, but they knew they never belonged. Skin too dark and wallets too empty - hah, as if she even carried a wallet in high school.

It's almost unreal how much money Ben has. Once she gets into it, she gets into it. A real Kate Spade bag, bright red leather - and a matching one for Cathy, too. Tommy Hilfiger jeans, a tube top Wayne says she looks fabulous in but she absolutely doesn’t buy, an Enyce sweatsuit she definitely does buy. Christian Dior sunglasses that Ben would appreciate. All she has to do is swipe that magic little black card.

Still, she’s shopped out by three. Selena has to pick up her kids, Crystal has night classes, and Moms takes off and then it’s just the two of them.

But Wayne is still going and, well. It’s not like he gets much time off work and if he wants to make the most of his vacation she can’t complain. She just should’ve brought her sensible flats.

“We’ve still got to pick up Ben’s gift,” she reminds him while they admire their matching scarves in the full-length mirror at Macy's.

“Last but not least.” 

Second to last is a child-sized pair of Jordans for Cathy. Even more Tommy Hilfiger and a quick stop at Baby Gap for a pair of sandals, too. Then there's a little brown leather jacket Wayne gets quite excited about - and then he has to find an adult-sized to match, and god, her feet are killing her.

Wayne finally seems to realize it when she collapses in the dressing room at Diesel and responds by giving her a foot massage. A really good one, too. Like, professional level.

“Like, seriously. How are you even real?”

Wayne looks caught off guard, but only for a moment. “Your husband asks me the same thing.”

“Speaking of Ben, we’re supposed to pick him up by five, and I actually don’t wanna shop till I drop.”

“Sorry. You’re right. I got a bit carried away, didn’t I.”

“It’s okay. You’re just a shopaholic.”

“Shopaholic,” Wayne repeats.

She laughs. Wayne's so weird sometimes. “Like, addicted, you know? I knew you had a Valley Girl in you all along."

“Like, totally,” Wayne says, rolling his eyes, and she laughs.

Finally they’re in the Louis Vuitton shop. Screw the handbags and luggage, she just wants to see Ben’s gift for the first time.

It’s not much. Just a strap for his glasses. Something he desperately needs even if he doesn’t even seem to know it.

He does need it, right? Not that she’s ever seen him lose his glasses.

Nadine squints at the tiny pattern of LV logos. A gloved hand comes to rest on her shoulder, giving her a little squeeze.

“Nadine, relax. He’ll love it.”

Ben isn’t exactly an easy guy to please. Not all the time. It’s just hard sometimes. Thank God for Wayne.

“Trust me,” he says, and pecks her on the cheek.


	7. Zoo Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked for VKaz for [17\. “I have contemplated becoming a hermit.”](http://goodnightfern.tumblr.com/post/175762355121/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: animal death
> 
> Hi. Mercury is in retrograde, which is a cutesy codename for "I have a total of 10k words in drafts waiting for my ass to get to when this summertime seasonal depression gives me a break" which means. Prompt time baby. Don't ask why I titled this after a U2 song idk either.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe I have contemplated becoming a hermit myself,“ Kaz says. “But, y'know. Got the kid and all.”

“I’m not a hermit. I’ve got kids,” he says. “More than a few.”

“You just said - nevermind.” Kaz makes a sound in his throat that he knows well. On the other side of the world Kaz is rolling his eyes to high heavens behind his shades. If he still wears the shades. “I’m sure you understand the responsibilities of a father.”

No, he doesn’t. He only has one responsibility now. Everything else he just does for the hell of it. Like call up Kaz on his iDroid to send him photos of the giraffe. There’s no practical reason for the giraffe, but it has a long textured tongue and Ocelot shrugged when he suggested it. The Boss stared at it for a long, long time, sitting in the red dirt of its enclosure, and didn’t say anything at all.

Giraffes. They’re tall. Eat leaves and stuff. It’d be nice, to be as tall as a giraffe. Stand around eating leaves in the shade all day.

He forgot to take his blue pills today. Or maybe it was the red ones. One of them. He forgot to take them. Quiet usually reminds him to take his pills, but she wasn’t in the mirror this morning.

Machine Gun Kid is sitting quietly for once, watching him feed the giraffes in the shack on top of the short tower in their enclosure you built specifically for times like this. Maybe Machine Gun Kid took one of the blue pills today, or maybe Machine Gun Kid feels quiet around the giraffes, too.

Hah, Quiet. That's a pun, he thinks. But Quiet never goes to see the giraffes. She just lives in the mirror these days. 

“Why wasn’t Quiet in the mirror today?”

Kaz is silent for a long time, and then he says, “Maybe she went on vacation.”

“Vacation? That’s nice.”

Some days he feels like he’s on vacation. When he steps outside of the grey, grey halls. When he goes beyond the gates. When he’s on a hunting trip, an often necessity as the supply lines keep running into trouble. The local resistance force is getting bigger. It’s almost time to end this all.

“You should take a vacation,” he tells Kaz. “Bring your daughter. Come see the giraffes.”

“Kinda hot out there, isn’t it?”

“It’s not so bad in the shade. There’s a watering hole, about ten miles from the base. The Kalahari isn’t as arid a desert as you might think.”

“Why don’t you go on vacation? Come to Los Angeles. I’ll take you out to the Mojave. It’s real lonesome out there. All kinds of ghost towns and abandoned mines and stuff. It’d be perfect for you. Gotta watch out for water in the desert, but I’ll make runs every so often. Hell, there’s this old hotel I drive past sometimes on the way out. Totally closed up. I’ve been thinking about opening a Maxi Buns there. You can just hide out there. Live the hermit dream.” Kaz coughs, wetly. “Is, uh. Is DD - is DD still around?”

“Still around.”

“Um. Do you, um. Does -”

“Ocelot was here last week.” It’s nice when Ocelot visits these days. At first he didn’t like it. But it’s nice. Ocelot showed him picture of Kaz's daughter the last time he visited. She was cute.

Holland Oates takes the acacia branch from his hand. Gives it to the giraffe and says, “But I’m out of my head when you’re not around.”

“What?” Kaz asks.

“I’m out of time.”

“Do you have to go?”

“No.”

“That’s… that’s the Hall & Oates song. Right?”

“Holland Oates. It’s just one person.”

Machine Gun Kid pulls up his knees and rests his chin on one. Staring up at him.

He smiles at the boy. He hopes the blue pills worked out for him. Maybe Kaz will come and take the blue pills too.

Or was it the red?

Below the tower DD is barking. DD isn’t supposed to be in the giraffe enclosure, but when he looks down he sees Shoot Gunner with him. Maybe he really was out of time. Now that he looks around, he sees the sky is turning red. The sunsets are beautiful in the Kalahari. Didn’t Kaz like to watch the sunsets, once?

“Sorry, Kaz. I just realized it’s getting late.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” he says, sincerely. “You should call more often.”

Kaz’s laugh is short. Sad. “Yeah. Okay… Snake?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

Machine Gun Kid is tugging his red arm. The branch fell. He has to give the last branch to the giraffe, but the giraffe has already wandered away. The giraffe’s name is -

The giraffe’s name is -

As the food situation gets worse, the giraffe will be eaten. He will shoot it through the skull with a sniper rifle. Or climb up the ladder to this same little shack and slit its throat with a very big knife and the children will eat it. The water pumps are running again, at least, the well isn’t dry yet, and they’ll make it until the time comes. Until the TX-55 is built. He's not sure what's taking so long. Ocelot handles R&D, now. 

“It’s okay,” he tells Kaz. “Nobody calls me anything here.”

Kaz chuckles, softly. “Okay, nobody.”

“You should try it. Promise me you’ll try it.” 

“Yeah, sure. But, ah… try what?”

He isn’t sure what he’s talking about either. But he’s got to go. The kids are hungry. It’s time to call them all in to the mess hall. The grown-ups, too. There’s a lot of people here. He isn’t alone, he’s responsible for ending all of these little lives he’s gathered here. He is responsible for the nuclear warheads underground. But first, he has to -

He pulls out his sidearm and turns around. In the fading light he can make out the outline of the giraffe's skull, silhouetted against the sunset.

He shoots.

Kaz is shouting something on the iDroid. Machine Gun Kid tugs his bionic again. The giraffe is swaying, falling to red, red dust. DD is barking again and Holland Oates is gone.

Time to climb down the ladder.


	8. Sasquatch Selects A Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue prompt for this one was: "You look like a strategically shaved monkey."
> 
> I had a really really gross idea at first but i decided to use metaphor instead. so uh?

His new boss - no. 

His new _business partner_ looks like a damn monkey. A hulking giant ape strategically shaved to resemble a man. Some kind of proto-Neanderthal squatting in the jungle shoving raw bloody meat in his mouth. 

Right now, at least, the meat is roasting. An entire agouti is spinning on the spit between Kaz and his business partner. Speaking of business, there's a contract in Kaz's hands about providing protection to an especially large cocaine shipment trying to get from Columbia to Cuba without falling into the CIA's grubby little hands. 

Snake just grunted and said it could wait for after dinner. Better yet, till morning. 

Kaz is supposed to give an answer by morning. 

His leg keeps jerking. Kaz stills it. But then his foot starts tapping in the sand. 

"Something wrong?" 

Of course Snake noticed his agitation because while he may not listen to a word Kaz says, the bastard never stops staring at him. 

"I'm fine. Just... hungry."

"Go ahead and grab a piece. If you like it bloody."

Just to demonstrate, Snake gets up and grabs one of the roasting legs. Tendons twist and split. It is indeed still bloody, and soon Snake's entire beard is dripping blood and sinew. 

"Hmm... tasty."

Kaz looks away. But the only other people around are Snake's lieutenants. The people who jeered at him the loudest, at Snake's left and right hand, are openly leering at him.

No one's on Kaz's side of the fire. 

For Christ's sake. Kaz is supposed to be second-in-command here.

Snake throws the cleaned bones behind his shoulder, somewhere on the beach. Wipes the blood and fat with the back of his hand. He's gross. The whole camp is gross. And they say gross, revolting shit about their newest commander when they think he can't hear. While their boss's roving eye slides up and down his body until Kaz has to take a shower. 

Kaz could make this man a millionaire and he'd still be nothing more than a piece of ass. 

Well, fine. 

So Kaz gets up. Sets the contract down safely on his chair. Blood and grease spatter across the Rolex when he pulls off the leg, but that's fine. He can clean it off later. 

Right now he's going to shove this entire chunk of bloody meat in his mouth and he isn't even going to gag. The meat is so rare it's still cold inside, but Kaz chews and swallows the whole thing. Then he hurls the bones away and licks his lips. _Slowly._

The lieutenants are shaking their heads, but Snake looks like he could jump Kaz's bones right this second. 

"Too rare for you?" Snake asks. 

"It's awful," he tells Snake flatly. "You didn't even bother to season it. And your flame is too hot. It's going to burn before its even cooked through."

"So you know how to cook, huh?" Snake tilts his head. The gears are turning, somewhere in his Sasquatch mind. 

Yeah, Kaz is a great cook. He can deal with being a captive bride, for a while. 

And one day? When he's a billionaire? He's gonna set this bastard on fire.


	9. Soulmate to Soulmate We Stand Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi i ranted on twitter about soulmate aus (what are they? where do they come from. why do they persist and how can we defeat this evil) and then i uh

Kaz never saw his mother’s soulmate mark. It was one more thing she kept hidden, beneath a slim linen band that never left her wrist.

She always told him not to worry about the strange letters on his wrist. That love came from the strangest places and then went, like sand on the sea breeze, but Kaz would still scratch at the brand on his wrist.

None of the soldiers could help him decipher it. They laughed, or shrugged, or called their buddies over to come and see the oddity. It was the blonde American with tired brown eyes who told him, “look, kid, that’s not a name.”

He pointed and spelled it out, slowly. “B-I-G, B-O-S-S. You know what that says?”

Kaz, a bright child who already knew saying _fuck_ would make the soldiers laugh and give him candy, screwed up his face. “Big… Boss?”

The American shrugged, sadly. “Yeah. That's no name. Not even in America. Say, you got the filtered Lucky’s?”

As his mother said, soulmates weren't everything. Kaz was different from everyone around him; a reasonable boy would've sucked it up and carried on.

But at night Kaz turned on the transistor, and when he had the spare cash he could visit the cinema. Onscreen he saw Americans dance with their soulmates on brightly lit stages, search for them through smoky alleys, kiss them as the fireworks went off over their heads, and wondered.

Needless to say meeting the man known as Big Boss felt like destiny.

He should have listened to his mother.

Even after the first time Big Boss grunted on top of him Kaz kept the linen band on. Big Boss’s bandanna scrap stayed put; why should he bother with the revelation? But while Kaz lay awake still wincing, he dared a peek under his own wrist.

Nothing had changed.

That wasn't right.

Soulmate marks were supposed to light up or some shit. That was how you knew, especially if you were some poor schmuck with a name like Joe or Maria or Sakura on your wrist.

Maybe nothing happened if the sex was bad.

Kaz had found his soulmate, but as he lay there beneath the mosquito netting with come drying between his aching legs, he found his soul was dead.

His soulmate was a bad lay who smelled like a corpse left in a swamp. Who Kaz assumed was illiterate because the man never bothered to read anything he was handed, just passing it to Kaz with a grunt. Who bashed his head in and sent him crawling to medbay should he get a peaceful taste of pussy for once in his goddamn life, no soulmate strings attached.

And then, Kaz lost everything.

 

 

Like all good oil sheiks, Abdulrahman Abadi still stuck to the traditional ways. A business deal meant a long drive through the desert, ducking inside a tent, nodding through the casual gossip over tea, and washing hands before scooping up piles of rice and meat. Always the right hand, never the left. The real business talk would start after dinner when they broke out the cigars and coffee.

Ocelot was along for this ride, having replaced his red scarf with a keffiyeh for that extra dash of a tasteless American tourist. But the gloves were still on, and Kaz was waiting to see if Ocelot would break good manners.

Yet when the bowl came Ocelot took off the gloves without a fight. Washed long withered fingers quickly, not a wasted movement.

Kaz wasn't too surprised by this. After a few years, he’d learned Ocelot was as unpredictable and chaotic as Afghani opium supply routes. He wasn’t even shocked that Ocelot wore nothing to hide the name on his wrist; there was always a raging psychopath beneath those careful manners.

No, the reason he stared was because even with the scars crossing through he could read the name plain as day.

B-I-G B-O-S-S.

Bullshit.

Nobody could share a soulmate with someone else. That sounded like some far-out hippie crap. That defeated the entire purpose of soulmates.

Well, Ocelot hadn’t seen his right wrist yet. So when Kaz did bring it up (much later, on a guano-caked oil rig so rusted he half feared this would be their last night together) he asked Ocelot one last time about his relationship with Big Boss.

Ocelot shrugged, almost sadly. There was half a bottle of gin between them on the helipad where they sat, dangling legs over the sea.

“Sometimes your soulmate chooses something else.”

“So it's true? You never fucked?”

Ocelot pretended he was too drunk to sit up straight anymore. “I met Snake when I was nineteen,” he says.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Before he even got the title of Big Boss.” He smiled. Pulled up his glove to trace the name with a finger. “Once I knew it felt like destiny. Then again, I never cared much for fate.”

Someone else was using Ocelot's mouth to speak. It happened, sometimes. Kaz couldn't say he felt the same way when he'd met Big Boss, but then Ocelot leered up and asked what his own soulmate brand read.

“Does it matter?”

“Mine sure seemed to matter to you. Come on. I showed you mine, now you show me yours. It's only fair.”

“Since when do you play fair?"

"Miller. I am a paragon of integrity."

"Yeah, there's nothing more respectable than Russian roulette on cocaine when you already know where the bullet is. It’s just - look, it’s Big fucking Boss, okay?”

Ocelot’s eyes lit up. “Show me.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong? It didn't turn white either?”

_Either?_

Kaz groaned. The last thing he wanted to talk about was a drooling brain-dead sucker probably thousands of miles away. “Look, do you wanna fuck tonight or not? 'Cause if I drink anymore, I sure won't be able to get it up.”

“You don't need an erection for a prostate orgasm,” Ocelot said smoothly, and Kaz groaned again.

Ocelot sure as hell wasn't his soulmate, but at least he could read. The sex wasn’t half bad, either.

 

 

 

By the time their mutual soulmate woke up Kaz didn’t even have that wrist anymore.

What he had was a soulmate who looked at him like he was the world. Who was cloyingly gentle and smotheringly sweet. Who fretted and fussed over him all the time, and, more importantly, took off that bandanna Big Boss always kept around his wrist.

B-I-G B-O-S-S.

“No fucking shit,” Kaz said, grabbing his wrist in wonder. “You’re your own soulmate? That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard.”

“Eh.” Snake puffed his cigar, eyes distant. “Gotta love yourself first, right?”

“I guess?”

That should’ve been one of the first signs. But Kaz was a little distracted. What with Skull Face, what with the nightmares, what with the missing foot and Ocelot’s strange distance that left him cold after every professional interaction.

There were plenty of signs. Years later Kaz would chuckle about it.

But in 1984 when his world had fallen apart again, when he sat in the detritus of his office as Ocelot said things with his stupid long hands that Kaz absolutely wasn't too drunk to hear, he realized something.

“What did you just say?”

“Anybody can be Big Boss.”

“What the hell does that mean,” Kaz asked his gin. The bottle said nothing. Only Ocelot replied.

“Big Boss is a legend. An icon of the perfect soldier. A meme you helped spread across the world. The man himself -” Ocelot snaps his fingers. “Irrelevant to the grand scheme.”

“Anybody can be Big Boss,” Kaz repeated. “The perfect soldier.”

"Known on every battlefield in the world. So we've established."

“But if _love_ is a battlefield…”

“Miller, you’re drunk.”

“Yeah. And we’re both dumbasses.”

“Ah. You mean -”

“Big Boss!” Kaz hurled the bottle. It was empty. “Big fucking Boss. This whole time, you and me, we both - our soulmate could've been fucking anybody. And we just - we just went with the big stinking commando fucker. Big Boss, my ass. That's why our shit never turned white. Be real with me. Did you ever, actually, love the guy? Or did you just hypnotize that in, too?”

“Kaz…”

“What if Bruce Springsteen is our soulmate. Would you fuck him? I’d fuck him. Screw all this. You and me, we're going to Jersey.”

But Ocelot went still and said, in a voice barely more than a whisper, “maybe our real soulmates were the friends we made along the way.”

“The friends we built a business with and fucked around with for nine goddamn years until -”

Kaz wasn't expecting Ocelot to place both hands on the desk and lean forward to kiss him. There wasn't time to push him away, and with one hand Kaz sure didn't have the strength. The kiss lasted long enough to get uncomfortable before Ocelot pulled him away to stare into Kaz’s eyes. His own were very bright, but not as dilated as usual.

“I don't need a soulmate, Kaz.”

“Yeah, well. My mother always said it was a load of crap. Besides, it’s not like our shit ever turned white.”

“And we both know that wasn't just a result of our sexual prowess.”

Kaz broke. He laughed until he slapped the desk. Until he had to put his head in his hands. Until the laughs turned to sobs and he felt Ocelot’s careful hand on the back of his head.

He looked back up at Ocelot.

“Ask me anything you like,” Ocelot said. “I’ll give you the truth. I swear it.”

“Okay.” Kaz reached for Ocelot’s hand on the desk. Squeezed the fingers. “Can we put on that Pat Benatar song first? It’s stuck in my head now. And I need coffee. But not your cat piss. Real coffee.”

Ocelot’s shoulders slumped with relief or exhaustion. Probably both. But he chuckled, the low familiar chuckle Kaz hadn't heard since V came to, and said, “All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *butterfly meme* is the ending of mgsv a satirical commentary on soulmate aus? in this 120k of carefully planned words i will deconstruct - 
> 
> no


End file.
